


The Morning After

by SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff



Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Hangover, Lovely Wives Being Domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28935777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff/pseuds/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff
Summary: Gill and Julie wake up on a hangover. Coffee is in order.
Relationships: Julie Dodson/Gill Murray
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlorenceVassy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlorenceVassy/gifts).



> Soft little nothingness about hungover wives. Very brief references to vomiting/feeling queasy.

There's a frog at the bottom of Gill Murray's tummy. There must be. There's a sickening rolling, jumpy feeling in her stomach, and it can't possibly have anything to do with the three bottles of red they put away last night. Or the - what was it that Jules sucked off her collarbones? Tequila, maybe. She didn't even know they had tequila in the house. Probably Sammy's, and now she'll have to either get him some more, or explain what exactly it was they were doing with it. She'll get him some more. The less said about last night the better, though she knows she won't get away with that when Julie wakes up. "Jules. Julie. Julie. Wake up, you noisy lump" she huffs, nudging Jules firmly in the ribs until she stops snoring, though she doesn't wake up. She'll sleep till the afternoon, wake up with hardly a trace of a hangover, and be back in bed by eight when she starts to flag. Gill, on the other hand, can never sleep after the first signs of a headache and a sad tummy. It takes her a few moments just lying on her back with her eyes closed to feel safe enough to sit up, then slowly slide her legs round to the side of the bed and sit on the edge for another few minutes. Too Fucking Old for this.

Julie grumbles and shifts around a little, and Gill gazes at her until she settles, mostly to make sure she isn't about to throw up all over herself and the clean sheets. She settles after a moment, pulling Gill's pillow closer to her and kissing it in her sleep, which makes Gill laugh softly. "See ya later, slap" she murmurs, kissing her wife's hair and catching a scent of tequila and toothpaste and stale cigarette smoke. Yummy. Lovely, stinky, hungover snoring wife. Still prettier than anything she's ever laid eyes on before. Pulling her fluffy pink dressing gown on over the bizarre combo of oversized tshirt and Christmas knickers she'd ended up in last night, she slipped her old worn out slippers on and made her way carefully down the stairs. The bannister is soft and smooth under her cautious hand, and another memory from last night comes back to her. Julie's thigh under her hand, and - what were they doing? She concentrates for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, wincing a little against the sunlight streaming through the front windows. Oh. Right. **That**. No wonder Jules is still sleepy. 

There's half a dried out lime on the kitchen counter, alongside a sticky sugary smear that Gill really doesn't want to think about, and - her knickers, lovely, good work Gill. So classy. She chucks the lime away, throws her knickers into the washing machine and wipes up the counter, before starting on coffee. There's an open bag of strong, posh ground coffee in the cupboard, and she takes a moment to just inhale before putting a good three spoons into the bottom of the cafetiere. Hasn't even boiled the kettle, her head is so fuzzy it feels like a family of lazy bees have taken up residence in there. She pops the radio on as she waits for the kettle, wincing as it comes on to Greatest Hits and she recalls dancing around the kitchen with Jules to _All The Girls Love Alice_. Her thigh muscles protest a little as she reaches up to pick out the mug she wants, and she thinks for a moment, trying to work out if it was the dancing or something else that's gotten her sore. Both, more than likely. She remembers dancing on the tiles in just her spotty burgundy tights and her matching bra, slipping on the floor and causing Julie to reach out and hold her elbows, and - she doesn't really remember much after that. She switches it to Radio Four for a little respite. 

The coffee helps, strong and black and complicated on her tongue, and she focuses her mind on trying to pick out the individual flavours as she half-listens to an interesting little bit on Womens Hour about foster families. It doesn't take her long to decide that the coffee tastes mostly of chocolatey richness and a little hint of cherry, which leaves space in her head for other things. For imagining Jules curled up in her armchair with a little baby in her arms, which she scoffs away after a few minutes daydreaming, just as a treat. Julie is resolutely awful with babies. Still, it might be an idea, now Sammy's moved out. Older teenagers, maybe. They still need parents. The wooden chair at the kitchen table is cold against her bum, and after another mug of coffee she moves to the sofa, curling up under a blanket and sticking the telly on. 

She's watched two and a half episodes of Home Fires back to back before Julie stirs, creaking around upstairs for a bit before bounding down the stairs with all the energy of an excitable terrier. "Shhhh" Gill says before Jules has a chance to say anything, and then turns to grin at her. She's joking, of course. "Mornin, slap. Christ, feel like I should be doing the walk of shame, not waking up with my wife. What did you /do/ to me last night?" She half teases, half accuses, and Julie leans against the doorframe in just her long pyjama top and grins that lopsided smile she's utterly obsessed with. "You sure it was me?" Julie grins, and Gill can't help but cackle with laughter despite her persistent headache. "Pretty sure, yeah. Don't know anyone else with legs that long" Gill answers when she's got her breath back, and Julie grins back, then tilts her hips just so to accentuate her arse and points one long leg out like a ballerina, her shirt riding up to give Gill quite an eyeful. "Don't know what you're talking about" Julie demurs, and Gill's mouth is suddenly very dry. Bright red toenails, a surprisingly delicate arched foot, and then the longest expanse of soft, smooth, toned calf she's ever seen, that sensitive little nook at the back of her knee, and seven eighths of Jules' beautiful curvy thighs. She wants to kiss every single centimetre. 

"You gonna do us some breakfast then, Princess?" Julie teases, and Gill forces herself up from the sofa just to give Julie a firm nip on her arse for insolence. "Told you not to call me that" she huffs, heading through to the kitchen and putting some toast on. Julie is a simple creature. She likes tea, and cuddles, and toast, and sex, and essentially needs nothing more than softness, warmness, bread based nutrition and an outlet for her raging sex drive. Gill is more than happy to provide. She's occupied making another pot of tea when she hears a soft huff behind her, and she turns, hoping Jules isn't bent over the sink. She's sat at the table, trying to angle her wrist just so to fit her hand inside a half-empty Pringles tube she's dug out from somewhere. "Jules!! I'm making your breakfast, literally right in front of you - and you know your hand doesn't fit, so I don't know why you keep trying-" she huffs, before Julie looks up at her and just _winks_ , and they both dissolve into giggles. Tired, sore, hungover giggles, but they always say laughter is the best medicine. Laughter, tea, toast, and they'll see where they go from there. More than likely back to bed.


End file.
